


Ceremony

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [26]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Happy endings abound, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Making Out, Maybe some Leliana/Alistair if you squint, Oral Sex, Plans For The Future, Post-Blight, Post-Coronation Ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last chapter is E for Explicit, not Everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Zevran had just finished trying on his clothes for next week's ceremony, the official one for all the nobles now Anora had been coronated as the queen of Ferelden, the sole ruler. Of course, there had been nightly celebrations throughout Denerim already, but this was one for all of the important nobles who wanted to see the Hero of Ferelden, as they'd taken to calling him. Speaking of which...

The Antivan looked up from discussing precise measurements and adjustments with the tailor when he heard a small commotion from outside, just down the corridor.

"Come on, Theron!" The plaintive voice coming through the open door was Leliana. Zevran grinned.

"No!" Came the abrupt, faintly scared-sounding response.

"You can't stand around the nobility in that armour, what will they think?"

"That I'm a Dalish ranger who hates crowded rooms that are full of _shemlen_?"

Zevran glanced down at the tailor, and sighed to himself. When Anora had named the other elf as Arl, his expression had been as blank as it had been guarded. Human titles meant nothing to a Dalish elf, like water sliding off a duck’s back.

"It seems that your services are required elsewhere sooner than expected." The Antivan noted, glad that they'd already made note of the most major alterations that were needed.

Zevran was rather used to the pomp and ceremony of official engagements, mostly because he had had to attend a few in his days as a Crow, in order to kill or seduce targets easily. Naturally, Theron... Was not. He was worse than Oghren - Sten escaped comparison solely because he had stubbornly refused to be parted from either his armour or Asala for the event, and no-one wished to anger the Qunari by pressing the matter.

The former Crow pulled the shirt off carefully, pausing to wink at the tailor still in the room before he tugged his plain shirt on. The journey to Theron's - or, technically, their - room was short, and the Antivan wasn't too surprised when he caught Leliana's exasperated expression.

"What did you suggest putting him into?" Zevran asked. He was attempting to take a neutral stance on this issue, by offering support to both sides of the schism.

"Just some Orlesian silks." The bard replied, gesturing to the nearby table and the small rolls of sample cloth that lay on them. "Perhaps some jewel work or embroidery." She added sheepishly.

Theron narrowed his eyes slightly from where he stood across the room, a safe distance away and still in his new set of drakeskin armour. His shoulders were stiff, feet braced and hands curled at his sides as if he was expecting a fight, a tense standoff. Privately, Zevran suspected that now he had fully recovered after killing the Archdemon and spent the past year killing darkspawn, part of the Dalish elf was still on constant alert. Wisely, Leliana had placed the sources of Theron's ire between himself and his precious bow; if he went over to try and get it, for whatever reason, he would have to go past the table and the waiting bard.

"They need to take your measurements, the ball is next week." Leliana continued, giving the ranger a pleading look. "It'll just be one night, and then you can go back to the leather."

"Perhaps not even that first." Zevran muttered to himself from the doorway behind the redhead, smirking behind his hand. Then he spoke up in a louder voice, looking up at the Dalish elf as well. "She does have a point. You may as well give in now, before she tries to make you wear some ill fitting thing you have had no input on."

"Traitor." Theron scowled.

"I am on no-one's side!" Zevran protested at the unfair accusation, stepping into the room.

The ranger looked between the two more fashion-conscious occupants of the room, and then his resolve wavered, broke like glass under their stares.

"Are any of the silks green?" He asked with a resigned sigh, slowly walking over. Leliana practically squealed in delight, and Zevran rolled his eyes, beckoning for the tailor hovering uncertainly in the doorway to enter. Perhaps he should inform the poor man of the elf’s seemingly unusual aversion to mirrors before the hesitant trust was completely destroyed?

 

A week later, and Theron felt like he’d found a suitable hiding place in a corner of the room away from the worst of the celebrations. He'd been introduced to countless nobles, arls and dignitaries at the start of the evening by the Arl, and all of the faces and names had blended together almost immediately. He thought he could remember one or two people, mostly because they'd openly glared at him when they learnt that a _Dalish elf_ was the Hero of Ferelden, or stared at his _vallaslin_ or clothes for longer that he felt comfortable with.

Right now, he was hovering near Zevran; to his faint dismay the Antivan had swiftly picked up a small following of young men and women hanging off his every word. Everyone else seemed at ease with the festivities, bar Sten who was standing in a corner holding an untouched wine glass and glaring at unfamiliar faces who strayed too close. Theron could sympathise.

Oghren seemed to be well into his fifth drinking contest, judging by the noise coming from the casks. Alistair was up at the other end of the hall, talking politely with Arl Eamon and trying to ignore the glares Anora regularly threw him. Then again, she had every reason to be mad at the Grey Warden for what had happened at the Landsmeet and with Loghain. There was no sign of Morrigan, and Theron had not expected there to be. Wynne seemed to be talking with First Enchanter Irving and other Circle scholars, and Leliana was making her way through a near line of suitors hoping to win her hand on the dancefloor for the rest of the night. She looked stunning, tiny jewels glimmering like dew on her plum-coloured dress in the candlelight whenever she moved.

The ranger glanced down at his own freshly made outfit, keeping his hands in loose fists so he wouldn't start trying to scratch again. The fabric, the silk or whatever had been used itched. At least he'd been able to keep the main colour a dark, pine green. It went well with the gold threading - at least, that was what the other two thought.

He looked up, startled, when he felt a pat on his shoulder.

"Are you contemplating jumping out of a window yet?" Zevran asked with a knowing smirk.

"Not quite, but I still don't like this." Theron sighed, glancing back. "Managed to shake off your admirers?"

"Are you jealous about a little competition?"

"So long as it doesn't go further than flirting. Otherwise you wouldn't really be mine."

Zevran leaned back against the wall beside him with a sigh, holding the glass he'd snagged from a passing servant armed with a tray of the things.

"Want to try some? Vintage Orlesian wine, I think. Eamon is aiming to impress."

"And yet his decorated centrepiece is hiding in the shadows, avoiding eye contact." Theron muttered, shaking his head at himself.

"You don't seem to have moved an inch since an hour ago." Zevran nodded. "Still, you have chosen such an out of the way place it is a little easier to keep an eye on you than if you had been in the dancing crowds like Leliana is." He pointed out, looking over towards the bard.

"I'm glad someone's enjoying themselves."

"Oghren is having perhaps the best night of his life, no? And Sten is clearly the life and soul of the party."

The two grinned at that, the chatter from the room before them punctuated by a victorious bellow from the casks, and loud cheering.

"I don't believe it, the _whole_ barrel!" Someone said, voice rising above the cheers.

Theron and Zevran exchanged a confused look, but decided they would either hear about it later on or in the morning. The Antivan shook his head, looking the ranger up and down.

"Now, wasn't that worth the fuss? You look marvellous all dressed up." He commented, smiling slightly.

"It itches." Theron replied sulkily, reaching a hand up to scratch at his collar.

"It’s new material, it does that. But it suits you, and it suits the event." Zevran nodded, taking a sip of the wine to taste it - to check for poison out of force of habit. At important social functions such as these, there was always a strong chance of an assassin or two on the lookout for a window of opportunity. "Your hair, however..."

Theron seemed to have insisted on keeping his hair in his usual braided style, but from the way it gleamed it had clearly been washed and rebraided.

"I only agreed with Leliana that I would stay if she kept her hands away from my hair. She wanted to give me a more 'fashionable' hairstyle." Theron explained with a grimace at the idea.

"I found it hard enough to picture you in this outfit, let alone without your braids." Zevran smirked, taking another sip of the wine. There was no poison, as far as he could taste. If there was anything in the drink, it would have taken effect by now. Of course, he would be fine, but the same could not be said for people who weren’t as paranoid enough to regularly dose themselves with various antidotes until they built up a resistance to most known poisons.

"Mm. It fits, for the most part, but it's the itching I can't stand. I'd hate to be a noble who has to go through these sorts of gatherings regularly." The ranger nodded, looking at the humans who circled from one conversation to the next endlessly. There were as many people here as there were members of three Dalish clans, at least. In fact, the entire room would almost have been big enough for a clanmeet.

"Yes, but nobles are often born into this life. They know no different, same as you know no different about being a hunter. They would perhaps flounder far worse than you here if they were to live with the Dalish; you have picked up a lot." The blond pointed out.

"A hunter knows his prey only through careful observation." Theron replied calmly, watching a well-dressed duo of women shoot the two elves standing in the out of the way corner of the room a curious glance as they walked past.

"Right." Zevran sighed. "Would you be against it if I returned to my adoring hangers-on?" He asked, glancing over at the small group, of those that hadn't drifted away after the dashing and well-dressed Antivan had excused himself. "I don't think you would be very comfortable if they decided to pursue me here." He added, and the ranger hid his alarmed look with a casual shrug.

"If you want." Theron added. Zevran hesitated, and then pressed the wine glass into the other elf's hand.

"Trust me, you'll like it. And it's not poisoned, I checked." He said, slipping away before the ranger had a chance to protest.

Theron looked down at the wine, and resisted the urge to sniff it warily in case someone happened to be watching. He took a hesitant sip, and narrowed his eyes at the sour taste. Oh, no, he definitely preferred mead.

He supposed the evening wasn't _so_ bad, now he actually knew what these kinds of celebrations entailed. Leliana had made it seem so more foreboding than simply food, drink, talk and perhaps dancing. Ultimately, it wasn't actually too different from the celebrations Dalish clans tended to have - namedays, handfasting, clanmeets. Just... Far more formal and reserved, and not outside under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate getting an essay done for tomorrow (and also because I maybe felt bad about there being such a long gap since my last upload), I thought I'd upload the first part of this leviathan fic a day early, eeyyyy.  
> I really have no idea how long this will be.


	2. Chapter 2

Theron eventually plucked up the courage to leave his corner to go and get something to eat, setting the wine glass down on a table.

"Hey! Enjoying it?" Alistair said, looking up and smiling when he saw Theron approach the spread of food at last.

"Are you? Last I saw you were talking to Arl Eamon."

"Yeah, but it's still early in the night. Anything could happen."

Theron smirked, picking up a plate and examining the food curiously.

"I think that anything will be in the form of a red headed dwarf, a glaring Qunari or a blond elf." He replied, and Alistair laughed.

"I can't wait. The scandals are the best part, usually. Who fell out with who, who got caught trying to make off with the host's valuables..." The ex-Templar sighed, and the two grew quiet again.

"Sometimes I can't believe we survived that." Theron admitted, and no further explanation was needed.

"Don't you mean how _you_ survived? You were the one to actually ram a sword through it's skull. I didn't expect that."

The ranger was quiet for a moment, busy chewing and looking away at the ground or the food rather than up at the taller human.

"I'm not quite sure." He replied slowly, shrugging.

"So, what do you think you'll be doing now, when they eventually stop parading you before the people?" Alistair queried.

Theron had told Anora that he was going to travel; he had no idea where Morrigan had gone to after the fight, and he had no intention of ever finding out. He had thought he would go back to his clan, but Ashalle had told him they had gone far to the north, to the Free Marches. Besides, he was a Grey Warden now... He wasn't sure if he could ever truly return to his home among the Dalish. He had been through so much since leaving them, could he easily settle back into the life of being just a hunter and scout? And what about Zevran? He doubted that the Antivan would earnestly want to live in his clan rather than go back to Antiva, given his past experiences with the Dalish.

There were still reports of darkspawn raids coming in from the west, but it seemed that much of the remaining horde was fleeing back to the Deep Roads. He supposed he would try and wipe out whatever remnants of the darkspawn horde remained on the surface still, but after that?

“I was thinking of perhaps seeing Antiva. I think Zevran misses that country more than he lets on, and all his tales made me curious.” The ranger answered, as casually as he could.

“Oh, I didn’t… Er...” Alistair began, surprised. “Will you be moving to Antiva permanently?" He asked, and Theron hesitated.

The ranger had planned on going for a few months, at least. He hadn't thought about moving to live in Antiva. Truthfully, he'd planned to settle near the Brecilian Forest to live out what remained of his lifespan after continuing his travels. Or, now his people had finally been given land, perhaps he’d live on the outskirts of the forests close to one of the Dalish settlements that was being planned.

"I'm not sure. I might ask Zevran what he plans for the long term. But once the loose ends here in Ferelden with the darkspawn have been tied up, I'll be gone for at least a few months, perhaps a year."

Theron took another bite of food, looking around at the closest nobles, admiring some of the dresses or shirts despite the trial of his own shirt.

"So, what about you?" Theron asked.

"I don't think I'll hang around Denerim for too long, given how Anora still hates me for what happened at the Landsmeet. I might go back to Redcliffe, but I got a letter the other day, about a place called Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. Supposed to be even older than Denerim. It sounds like it might be a good place for the Grey Wardens of Ferelden to recover their numbers, providing some of the senior Wardens from Orlais are willing to stay and help induct recruits."

Theron raised an eyebrow curiously at the idea. A permanent place in Ferelden for the Grey Wardens as well as the Dalish?

"That sounds like a wonderful idea."

Alistair nodded in agreement, smiling faintly.

"Anyway, I'd better move on. I think I might see how Leliana’s doing..."

Theron gave him an encouraging smile, and then headed back to his corner to finish eating in privacy.

A glance told him that Leliana was in fact taking a break from dancing, but Zevran was busy talking to his small group of hangers on, and looked unlikely to come over again anytime soon. Wynne was still talking with her fellow mages, and Theron doubted she would drift off to the dancefloor anytime soon, so when he was finished eating he hesitantly walked over.

Wynne smiled when she saw the ranger approaching, and stepped apart from the rest of her group to talk to him.

“My, you look wonderful tonight.” She said, and Theron raised an eyebrow.

“Thanks?” He replied slowly, glancing down at himself. His shirt collar still itched.

“Anyway, I think I’ve occupied your time long enough, dear. I’ll let you both talk in peace.” First Enchanter Irving said, smiling warmly at Theron in greeting before he walked away.

“The Hero of Ferelden. How do you feel?” Wynne asked, and Theron shrugged carefully, feeling his scars pull.

“Tired of being paraded around like a golden halla, I suppose.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that title or all the fuss.”

The mage smiled in understanding.

“Of that, I have no doubt. I’m glad not to be on the receiving end of all this attention, myself. Let the young have their fame; it’s a title you’ll be wearing for a long time to come.” She advised. “As for the ‘fuss’, perhaps not, but you’re managing well enough in this room full of strangers. It’s not so bad, is it? I know I hadn’t been with your group for very long, but from what I can tell you’ve certainly developed. You are a capable leader, and just because the Blight’s over that doesn’t mean everything you’ve experienced has to go away with it. I’m sure that whatever you do next will be right for you.”

Theron looked up in surprise.

“I didn’t defeat the Blight on my own, you know. I highly doubt that I could have. I was thinking after I’ve helped get rid of the last of the darkspawn that I’d go with Zevran to Antiva.” He paused. “Have you changed your mind about Zevran and me?” He asked, remembering that night in front of the fire that felt like years ago now, the way he’d snapped at the healer after she'd questioned his dedication to being a Grey Warden.

Wynne glanced at the gleam of gold in Theron’s ear, and slowly nodded.

“I have watched you for a time, and I think I was wrong.” She admitted. “There seems to be something special about the two of you.”

They both looked across the hall to the Antivan, who was busy making a doe-eyed young lady laugh.

“His demeanour changes when he’s with you. There is a dedication, a tenderness to his gaze that I never saw until after what happened in Fort Drakon.”

Theron allowed himself to smile faintly.

“I saw it almost from the start.”

“Perhaps he just allowed you to see it.” The mage looked down at the wine glass in her hand, thinking. “I… Think I was too harsh in my judgement before, and I am truly sorry, Theron.” She apologised.

“It’s okay. You just wanted the best for me, perhaps even both of us.”

“What you may have may not last forever,” Wynne commented, and Theron nodded sadly, knowingly. “Death and duty may eventually part you, but love’s worthiness is not diminished by it. I should have recognised that before. You learn to cherish each moment spent together, knowing it could be your last. And for observers...”

Wynne looked from Zevran to Theron thoughtfully. “Well, it brings warmth to these bones knowing that despite utter chaos and despair, something as precious as love can still be found.” She finished, taking a careful sip of her wine.

Theron was quiet for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of talking and music - and another brief uproar from the casks.

“What do you think you’ll do now?” He asked, looking up at the senior mage curiously.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Irving asked me to take over as First Enchanter, but I don’t really wish to go back. Not after all of this. I’ve decided to apply for a position here at court instead. Anora seems like she’ll be a capable queen, but there hasn’t been a mage advising the throne for a very long time.”

The ranger smirked.

“That sounds like fun.”

“It will certainly be interesting. As for you and your travels, I wish you fortunes on your journeys, whether they take you to Antiva or somewhere further.”

“Thank you, Wynne.”

“I think I should be the one thanking you.” She chuckled, and then something drew her attention. “I think Zevran wishes to speak with you, from that mad gesturing.” She commented. “If we do not see each other again before you leave Denerim, I hope that you live well, Theron.”

The Dalish elf looked back at her, and smiled warmly.

“ _Ma serannas, haharen._ ”

With that, he walked over to the Antivan who seemed to have shaken off his retinue at last.

“Come, the evening stretches on, and standing around talking gets so boring after a while, doesn’t it?” Zevran asked, looking over at the dancefloor and grinning when he saw Alistair dancing a slow dance with Leliana. The other Grey Warden appeared to be enjoying himself, smiling idiotically and with a faint flush to his cheeks, while Leliana’s saving grace was her nimble feet, but she was smiling brightly as well as she pressed close to the taller man.

“Dare I ask what you have planned for the rest of our night?” Theron tilted his head dryly, drawing those golden eyes back to him.

“You know me too well for my own good. However, I was thinking that we could perhaps raid the kitchens and find something a little more filling than those dry little cakes on the table.” The Antivan looked at him encouragingly, and the ranger shook his head.

“You really are a bad influence on me.” He sighed.

“Yes, roping you into stealing pastries from innocent, harassed kitchen staff is my worst possible crime. Quick, before someone with stricter morals sees us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Quick, before someone with stricter morals sees us!” is my favourite line.
> 
> In my headcanon, Theron point-blank refused to take up the title of Warden-Commander. He wouldn't do well stuck in a cold and windy castle, and he wants to see the world dangit!


	3. Chapter 3

Zevran grabbed his wrist, and the two elves snuck out through a side door, grinning like mischievous children as they made their way to the kitchens. A cat looked up curiously when they peered round the edge of the open door, and then went back to scrounging for scraps under a table.

“Shall I go? I am used to sneaking through crowded rooms unnoticed.”

“It’s hardly that crowded.” Theron pointed out, noting that apart from the cat there was a thin scullery boy up to his elbows in dishwater, back to the door, and a frazzled-looking cook kneading dough on the rough wooden table in the centre of the room. “Perhaps you could woo her into giving us the rest of the food meant for the table out there?” He suggested jokingly. Zevran brightened at that.

“Sounds like a worthy challenge.” He nodded, narrowing his eyes as he no doubt planned how best to go about it, before he straightened up and slipped into the room. Theron watched him go with a smile, and then crouched down, clicking his tongue at the cat. It stared at him, and then padded over with a quiet mew, starting to purr almost as soon as it rubbed a cheek along his offered hand.

Zevran had little difficulty charming what seemed to be a small hamper of food and a bottle of brandy from the cook, and he chuckled when he returned to see Theron petting the scrawny little cat.

“Found a friend?” He asked, and the ranger shrugged, not looking up.

“I wish the Dalish kept cats. They’re such odd creatures.”

“Well, they like to roam, are proud and independent... Perfect matches for the Dalish.” The blond nodded as Theron reluctantly straightened up, and the two began walking again, hands brushing together. After a moment, Zevran reached over to gently take the ranger’s hand, feeling the rough calluses born from years of archery. “You could take them on hunts for birds and rabbits. I hear some Fereldens use their mabari for that.”

The black-haired man smirked.

“I think Dudain would rather catch the prey himself rather than let me kill it.”

“You could train him?” Zevran suggested, ducking through another door and leading the way up a flight of stairs.

Theron nodded as he followed, only now realising that he’d effectively abandoned the festivities for the rest of the night. Still, he hadn’t been enjoying them as much as the others had.

“We could have invited Sten.” The ranger said.

“Hm, I think having a Qunari around would eventually ruin the mood. Besides, I do not think he is interested in either of us.”

Theron sighed deeply, wearily, in the face of the blond’s teasing smirk.

“No, not like that. Whenever I looked over he seemed to be having an even worse time than I was. I feel bad that he doesn’t have an excuse to leave as well.”

“Perhaps Oghren will create one for him?”

“Oghren is a walking distraction, given enough alcohol. And I think he’s had plenty of that already."

“I saw him drinking out of what I believe was a barrel of pickles earlier.” Zevran noted, shaking his head.

“Didn’t we hear the aftermath of that?”

“No, this one was after I left you.”

“ _Another_ barrel?” Theron asked in disbelief, and Zevran nodded.

“Tomorrow will reveal all sorts of hilarity.”

“I think I’m beginning to see why nobles like these kinds of events.” Theron mused, looking around at the corridor. “By the way, where are we going? Our room was back there, wasn’t it?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder as they continued walking.

“Yes, but I was not planning on going there… Yet.” The Antivan shrugged, flashing the Dalish elf a reassuring smile as they reached a room at the end of the corridor. It was another guest room, everything arranged by the servants so it was ready for any wandering nobles who were tired after the festivities and had no wish or were too drunk to go back to wherever they were staying, or perhaps for mischievous couples in need of privacy. Thankfully, no-one was in it, but it was well lit in anticipation, a small fire crackling to itself in the hearth to keep the room warm.

“What are we doing here?” Theron asked in mild suspicion, pausing just inside the doorway as Zevran crossed the room and went to one of the tall, floor to ceiling windows opposite the bed.  
“Come here.” Was the response, Zevran setting the food down so he could push the window open - Theron realised it was actually a glass door after a few seconds, and walked over curiously, surprised that the Antivan hadn’t even glanced at the freshly made bed.

“A balcony?” He asked, stepping out onto the cool stone platform and shivering slightly in the night air. Their room didn’t have a balcony. Automatically, he looked up to see the stars, smiling as he realised the balcony gave them a good view of the faint lights out in the rest of Denerim.

“Romantic, no?” The blond suggested, bringing the food out and setting it down on the waist high balustrade in front of them.

“Mm.” The ranger nodded slowly in agreement, raising an eyebrow at Zevran questioningly and reaching for one of the canapes first. “You could have just told me, you know.” He pointed out.

“But that would spoil the surprise.”

“I would have still acted surprised.”

“I would have known you were pretending, though.” Zevran pointed out, examining the brandy in the starlight and the light from the room behind them.

The two settled into companionable silence after that, able to hear the sounds of the celebration going on through open windows somewhere below as they ate.

“I like your shirt.” Zevran ventured after a while, and Theron smiled. “The halla was a nice touch.” He added, nodding to the gold threading on the left side of the shirt that captured the likeness of a halla’s head, complete with the antlers. It went well with the dark green and white fabric, and even with Theron’s _vallaslin_.

“It’s my heraldry.” The Dalish elf admitted, looking down at it. Zevran raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t aware the Dalish had heraldry.” He replied, curious.

“We do, but we don’t draw attention to it the way _shemlen_ and _durgen’len_ do.” Theron shrugged. “This is my family heraldry, at any rate.”

Zevran hesitated.

“You know, you never did tell me about your parents. I saw you talking to that Dalish woman after Anora was crowned. Was she your clan’s Keeper, or your mother?” He asked, deciding he may as well take the opportunity. He may never get the chance again.

Theron smiled.

“Neither, I’m afraid. The rest of my clan has gone north to the Free Marches, but they miss me dearly. So I was told, anyway. Ashalle was my guardian, she came in my clan’s stead.” He explained, looking down at the small spread of food.

“Your guardian?” The Antivan asked, watching carefully in case the matter was a delicate subject.

“Yes, she raised me after my mother died. Half the clan did, in fact.” Theron smiled to himself, at dozens of childhood memories. He looked up at the blond next to him, and saw the unspoken questions he was longing to ask. “I suppose I should finally return the favour and tell you about my parents, hm?” He sighed, leaning against the other elf teasingly for a few moments. “My father was the Keeper before Marethari. He fell in love with a huntress from another clan, and I think it was a rather touchy subject for many years, even after she joined him in my clan.” Theron paused, absently picking up another pastry but not eating it. “Just before I was born, he was killed by a group of _shemlen_ and fla- city elves. Some time after I was born, my mother finally decided to go out to the forest and... Join him. I remember the day the scouts came back with her body, after my sixth winter.” The ranger grew quiet, staring down at the pastry. “I think I can remember her. She had long black hair, and she used a bow. I remember clinging to her leg once while she was doing target practice.” He murmured, lost in memories.

Zevran was quiet, giving Theron time to reflect, and instead listened to the snatches of revelry brought up from below by the cool night winds.

“I suppose that explains why you are such a good archer.” He eventually said, voice soft.

"Perhaps." The ranger nodded absently.

"So, how do you feel about being known as the Hero of Ferelden?" The blond asked casually, helping himself to a pastry as he changed the subject to something less personal.

"You're the fifth person to ask me that tonight." The black-haired elf answered, shaking his head. "But it feels too strange. Ordinary people, even human nobles, thinking I'm a hero. I’m not."

"Don't let it go to your head." Zevran replied sarcastically. "You did slay the Archdemon and stop the Blight. People do view such acts as heroism. You survived as well, somehow. Almost like something from children’s tales - the hero defeats the evil dragon and goes on to live happily ever after."

The ranger shifted uncomfortably, bad memories stirring just under the surface. Unknown, unknowable consequences to his cowardice and selfish want. He doubted that was part of a book of children’s tales.

"Yes, but it still feels weird being addressed like that." He replied, trying to steer the subject onwards. “Wynne was saying that it’s just something I’ll need to get used to. They’ll be calling me the Hero of Ferelden for a long time.”

“They will, and the rest of our little band may think it as well, even if they don’t say it.” The Antivan nodded, turning his head to look at the ranger. “I look at you and I see the Hero of Ferelden. But before that, I see the Dalish ranger, the elf I somehow fell in love with.” He said, as Theron blinked at him in surprise. That was perhaps the first time he’d heard Zevran say that word in casual conversation and Ferelden's common tongue.

“I…”

“I wonder if they will put up a statue of you as well?” Zevran mused quickly, leaning against the balcony and staring out into the night rather than look at Theron.

“I hope not.” The ranger replied slowly, momentarily shaken by the abrupt change of subject.

Did humans make a habit out of putting up statues? Would they put up a statue of an elf?

They grew quiet again, busy eating what remained of the food first. The ranger watched as Zevran struggled briefly with the stubborn bottle, the cork squeaking in protest as it was pulled free.

“Antivan brandy.” The former Crow nodded in approval - whether to himself or the taste of the kitchen staff was unclear. Theron turned his head curiously to examine the bottle, catching the warm smell of spices from the liquid within. “Better warmed by the fire, in my experience, but this will do.” Zevran added, looking up at the ranger before he offered the bottle. “Want to try it?” He asked.

Theron was about to say yes, but then he remembered the Orlesian wine, and shook his head.

“No, you drink it. I don’t have such a refined palate.”

“Or you don’t want to get drunk. You’re no fun.” The Antivan commented teasingly, but he took a drink.

“If I got drunk, I’d drink far too much in the name of making the night more bearable, and then embarrass Eamon somehow in front of all of his dignified guests.” Theron pointed out, stretching leisurely and leaning forwards against the balustrade, hands stretching out into empty air as his elbows took some of his weight, forearms resting on the cold stone.

“That is true.” Zevran nodded, frowning in disappointment that he probably wouldn’t get to see that happen now. "But Oghren will always be a worse drunk than you."

“Mm.” The ranger huffed, closing his eyes and feeling the breeze tugging at his hair and clothes. He heard the faint sound of liquid sloshing again, and figured the Antivan was taking another drink.

“The Hero of Ferelden. You have come far from simply Theron the Dalish hunter.” The blond sighed into the air, and the ranger opened an eye curiously. “A cruel twist of fate started it, I know, but do you regret it?”

Theron frowned.

“I’m sure we’ve been over this before. I regret that I couldn’t do more for Tamlen, even though now I know there wasn’t anything that I could have done. I had to leave everything I ever knew behind and join an order I knew almost nothing about in order to survive. I’ve travelled all over Ferelden several times in a year to hastily scrape together an army to defeat a horde of corrupted… _Things_ lead by some kind of possessed Old God…” He trailed off his listing, aware that Zevran was looking at him oddly. “What?” He asked, frowning again.

“Nothing. You merely proved my point. You have changed so much in such a short space of time. I am glad to have seen much of it.” The assassin shrugged, looking down at the bottle he held casually.

Theron blinked in surprise, running back over his words and realising Zevran had spoken the truth. He _had_ changed, from a mere hunter and scout for his clan to a ranger who used a bow with the same lethality as other men used swords or axes. He’d made several difficult choices and inevitably regretted some, but he knew that was bound to happen. And now he was here a year later, in the middle of the largest city he had ever known, able to look down on it all with his _male_ lover unshakably beside him and with his future wide open ahead of him. He wouldn’t have to remain a hunter for the rest of his days. He could travel as far as he could, all the way to Antiva and beyond if he wished. He could do whatever he wanted. He had taken down the Archdemon and _survived_. Hero of Ferelden. Grey Warden. Ranger. Elf. Theron Mahariel.

He took a deep breath and gripped the balustrade, feeling like he needed to sit down for a few moments until the uncomfortable feeling passed, as if he’d just pried his own mind apart with a flick of his wrist.

“Can I try that?” He asked, reaching a hand out for the brandy. Zevran looked from the bottle to other elf and back in faint surprise, and then handed it over with a chuckle.

“Oghren would be proud.” He replied, even as Theron was caught out by the strength of the drink and the way it burned his throat, coughing and spluttering inelegantly. Definitely a mead person.

“You’ve… You’ve changed as well.” The ranger coughed, quickly handing the bottle back as he tried not to choke on brandy or his own saliva. _That_ would be an inelegant way to go indeed.

Zevran shrugged dismissively, putting the stopper back in the bottle and setting it aside.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not.”

“No, I mean it. Beneath all your constant flirting with anything that isn’t a dwarf, Qunari or animal, you’ve really changed.” Theron insisted, wiping his eyes when they watered and blinking hard as he looked over at the former Crow, calming down.

“How so?” Zevran asked.

“Well, for one you’re no longer bound to the Crows.” The ranger shrugged, thinking quickly. “You came at me fully expecting to die at the hands of the Grey Wardens - you said yourself you didn’t bother making plans for if you managed to survive the fight and get away. We had a rough start, but we moved past it. You… You didn’t think of yourself as someone worth loving or being loved, or even being alive.” He continued falteringly. “The Crows made you think you were nothing, they kept telling you so much that eventually you believed them. But you weren’t nothing. You were, and are so much more than that. I wanted you to see yourself how I saw you. That’s what made me keep you around after you tried to kill me the second time, you just needed another chance and some patience. Besides, you’re completely unlike anything else I’ve seen. Not a proudly independent Dalish, but not a city elf too beaten to fight back either. Something _different_ -” The ranger broke off, abruptly running out of words when he looked back up at the other elf and saw his expression was one of detached curiosity, one eyebrow raised. It had taken Zevran _months_ to figure out his feelings alone, let alone work up the nerve to finally admit them, after everything they had been through together.

Theron licked his dry lips, looking back at those gold eyes as he grasped desperately for words.

“I… I… _Ma'arlath_ , Zevran.” He eventually said, looking away again, back out to Denerim’s lights.

“You think I have changed that much?” The Antivan finally asked, after a long stretch of quiet, and Theron nodded once, firmly.

“We’ve both changed.” Theron replied softly.

“For the better, it seems.” Zevran nodded, stepping close to the ranger so their shoulders brushed. Theron felt fingers on his chin, and let his head be turned gently so he was looking at the blond.

“Definitely.” He agreed, leaning forwards to kiss the assassin, reaching a hand over to gently rest it on his shoulder as he felt one of Zevran’s fingers trailing down the edge of a pointed ear, to the warm circle of metal hanging there in his earlobe.

"This has been the best year of my life, _amor_."

The two moved closer together, bodies touching as the kiss deepened and hands began to carefully explore, as if they were strangers learning the feel of each other for the first time all over again. Tonight, while the nobles danced and laughed below, the night and her stars were theirs and theirs alone, with all the world ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did originally consider this being the end of the piece, but then I accidentally managed to write another 13 pages, oh well.  
> ~Not sure if it's been said yet, so providing the translation just in case~  
> Ma'arlath = I love you


	4. Chapter 4

Theron tilted his head as they kissed, feeling Zevran’s lips warm and soft against his own with the taste of brandy, the Antivan’s hands running down his front to settle on his waist. This time, there was no tough leather armour or weapon belts in the way, only soft, delicate silks and threads. 

The blond gently pushed at his hips, carefully turning the ranger so the balustrade was pressing into the small of his back rather than his side and keeping him there, all the while without breaking the kiss. Theron closed his eyes, a shiver running through him as a cold breeze picked up and blew over them. He felt Zevran’s hands tighten slightly on his waist, and moved his own hands from gripping the stone behind him to tangle in the former Crow’s hair, running the fine strands between his fingers.

Eventually, they pulled away to breathe, standing close together and staring at each other. Theron was about to tilt his head back, give Zevran an invitation to keep going, when he felt the hands on his waist tighten slightly.

“May I?” The blond asked, his voice low. Curious, the ranger nodded, going still until he was gently pushed again - a faint hint of alarm running through him until he realised Zevran just wanted him to sit down on top of the balustrade. Smirking, Theron hopped up and shifted until he was perching comfortably, automatically parting his legs so Zevran could stand between them, their hips just touching.

The ranger tilted his head back then, giving unspoken permission, and he closed his eyes when the former Crow leaned in, the brief heat of each breath against his neck making him shiver until Zevran began to kiss and nip at the delicate skin of his throat.

The Antivan slowly worked his way lower, hands skimming up over the Dalish elf’s front to begin to undo the buttons of his shirt at last.

“Have you grown tired of admiring the embroidery?” Theron asked with a soft chuckle.

“No, I merely think you may have had enough of such a needlessly fancy shirt. Besides, you said it itched. I do not wish for you to suffer any longer than needed.” Zevran replied, nimble fingers working on the buttons, exposing the ranger’s chest.

“How considerate of you.”

Zevran nodded, pulling away from the other elf’s neck and looking at the freshly revealed expanse of skin. The scars on Theron’s chest had completely healed by now, same for the scars that spanned his side and shoulder blades.

He looked up to see Theron watching him closely.

“I’m fine now, you know.” The ranger said, leaning in to kiss the blond softly on the cheek. Zevran hesitated, but leaned forwards to start kissing down the black-haired man’s throat to his collarbone, tugging the shirt to one side in mild irritation.

Theron leaned back slightly where he sat, running his fingers through the Antivan’s hair again and beginning to shiver in earnest. He felt heat on his chest, and bit his lip when Zevran took one of his nipples, already stiff from the cold, into his mouth and sucked lightly. The ranger bit back a groan of longing as he felt the former Crow’s teeth graze over his skin, distractedly wrapping a leg round his waist to pull him close, so their hips were pressed together.

He opened his eyes when he felt Zevran pull away, looking away when the blond smirked at him.

“Someone’s eager.” The other elf purred, looking over his shoulder at the lit, empty and no doubt warm bedroom behind them. Theron could almost hear him thinking.

“Well, everyone else is busy celebrating downstairs.” The Dalish elf shrugged, attempting to be casual even as he edged forwards ever so slightly, feeling Zevran’s hips warm against his through the fabric.

The Antivan chuckled softly, the noise low in a way that never failed to send a faint chill through the ranger.

“Well, there is a perfectly good bed not ten paces away.” Zevran suggested, moving his hands so he could gently rub Theron’s nipples, leaning in to kiss his throat again. “It would be a shame not to use it to it’s fullest extent, no?” 

“Perhaps.” The black-haired man sighed, feeling like he would blindly agree to anything Zevran suggested now they were finally alone together and away from the too-formal atmosphere of the hall. He also wanted to try and erase the memories of Morrigan entirely, forget that that night had ever happened. Reluctantly, he gently pushed on the blond’s shoulder, dropping his leg so the other elf was able to step back and he was free to get down from the balustrade. He quickly kissed the former Crow, and then led the way back through to the room.

Theron rolled his eyes when he saw Zevran pick up the brandy as well, but sat down on the end of the four poster bed. He sank down a few inches, and looked down at the sheets in surprise before he took his boots off. He hadn’t expected the bed to be that soft, but perhaps it was because he was used to a life of simple bedrolls and blankets made for warmth rather than comfort?

Zevran quickly joined him, setting the glass bottle down on the bedside table and sitting down next to the ranger, tugging his boots off and tossing them haphazardly across the room. 

“You’re overdressed.” Theron pointed out, and Zevran smirked as he looked down at his own shirt.

“It seems I am.” He nodded, still grinning as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside carelessly, exposing his golden skin at last. Theron rolled his eyes, but his own shirt followed quickly.

“After Leliana made us spend so much time fussing over fabrics.” Zevran sighed in mock disappointment as he looked down at the crumpled piles of silk, and the ranger laughed once.

“If I remember that torment right,  _ you _ were clucking over your shirt as if your life depended on it.” 

“And you merely selected a shade of green at random.” The blond tutted. “My ‘clucking’ allowed me to look my best in the end.”

“And are you implying that I didn’t?” The Dalish elf, raising an eyebrow in feigned hurt.

“I complimented you.”

“The stitching, more like.”

The Antivan let out a sigh, shaking his head.

“Remind me why we are talking about this again?” He asked, looking Theron over now he was shirtless, and the ranger did the same to Zevran, both gazes hungry.

Theron shrugged dismissively, and moved back until he was sitting on the bed properly.

“I honestly don’t think it matters.” He replied as Zevran followed him, running his hands over the Antivan’s front and down his muscled arms, following tattoos and feeling the faint ridges of scars he’d picked up over their travels and ones from his life before then, the scratches that ran down the curve of his ribs from a wolf attack that he’d initially tried to hide, and the bitemarks on his bicep from another wolf attack months later, along with countless other marks and nicks from barely dodged swords or claws, longer lines where he hadn't dodged quick enough. 

“Good.” The Antivan murmured, and then they were kissing again, slow and soft in an unspoken mutual agreement that there was no real need to rush things into a frenzy of desire for once. Theron felt a pressure against one shoulder, and then carefully lay back on the bed.

The ranger paused, and frowned; Zevran pulled back in confusion when the elf under him grew still, and then realised he was looking past him, up at the fabric canopy over their heads.

“Why would they paint trees on a bit of cloth?” The Dalish elf asked, mystified as he looked up at the scene, painted as if someone was looking up into the canopy of a forest, the hints of a blue sky and sunlight visible through the branches.

“For a nice view, perhaps?” Zevran suggested, turning back to kiss and nip Theron’s neck again, hoping to remind him of more important matters. Still, the black-haired man’s innocently curious reaction to the canopy was amusing, nearly endearing.

“Why not just go outside?”

“Because many nobles feel themselves too refined to go out and witness such sights of true natural beauty amongst the mud?” The Antivan suggested, pointedly running a hand down the smooth skin of the ranger’s stomach, trailing his fingers down and to one side until he could feel the sharp curve of a jutting hipbone, only just covered by his trousers.

Theron chuckled at the idea, staring up at the painstakingly recreated scene in wide-eyed curiosity.

“Humans are strange. They don’t like sleeping outside, so they pay someone to paint a screen to hang over their bed and pretend.” He mused. Zevran only just held back a sigh, and instead undid Theron’s trousers with a practised flick of his wrist that had taken him years of experience to master and make look effortless.

That got the ranger’s attention, and he looked down at the Antivan pressed up against him, sheepishly turning his head to kiss him. The action was almost gentle again, and the two pressed all the more closer together. One of Zevran’s hands went to Theron’s braids; the ranger smiled, having been waiting for the point where the Antivan finally gave in.

They lay like that for a few minutes, merely kissing and reassuring each other in the touches of skin against skin. They’d both miraculously survived a Blight, relatively unscathed, and now could choose to do what they wished with their lives.

“When do you think you’ll go back to Antiva?” Theron asked when they parted for breath. 

Zevran blinked, and lifted his head up enough to see the other elf properly.

“I am not sure.” He replied, frowning either in thought or at the second distraction the elf had suddenly created. “Why?”

“Because I want to go with you.” The ranger answered, looking back up at Zevran almost nervously.

“You would come north with me?” The blond questioned, raising an eyebrow. Theron frowned at him.

“Antiva isn’t too far from Ferelden, you know. You make it sound like I’m planning to go to Par Vollen with Sten.” The ranger snorted.

“My apologies,” Zevran dipped his head, hair gleaming in the soft light. “I was not expecting… I didn’t think you would ever want to leave Ferelden.”

Theron shrugged. He knew he’d talked earlier with Wynne and Alistair about planning to go for a holiday, but now they were discussing it, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to live in Antiva. He’d proven to himself that he could survive outside the Brecilian Forest, and another country was the next step away from that. 

“I’ve changed a lot in the past year, so who’s to say that I have to stop now?” The ranger suggested, feeling as surprised at his sudden boldness as Zevran looked. “Besides, you have told me so much about Antiva and your jewel Antiva City, I can’t help but be curious.”

The former Crow nodded slowly in agreement.

“But would you want to live there permanently?”

The Dalish elf hesitated now, and sighed.

“I have to admit, perhaps not. I would not like to leave Ferelden behind entirely.”

Zevran narrowed his eyes in thought.

“We could perhaps retire here when we feel the time is right, or when the Crows pick up my trail again?” He suggested, absently toying with the button on the ranger’s trousers, and Theron smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

The black-haired man reached up, gently pulling Zevran down into another kiss, knowing that he’d probably talked enough for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short because the next part probably won't be.


	5. Chapter 5

The Antivan moved to kneel over him, planting his knees on either side of the ranger’s thighs and resting some of his weight on one hand, while the other kept playing with the undone button of Theron’s trousers lazily.

The room grew quiet again, until the blond hooked his fingers into the waistband of the ranger’s trousers and began to slowly, teasingly pull them down. Theron pulled away to watch, lifting his hips up obligingly and then biting his lip at the cool air in the room; Zevran hadn’t shut the door to the balcony, he realised dimly after a moment, but it barely mattered. They’d done similar acts in a thin canvas tent and furs several times over (as well as a few interesting times in rivers or ponds), in colder air than this. They both could cope with a slight draft.

The ranger looked up when he felt two golden eyes watching him, and smiled in response when he heard the deliberate sound of clothing hitting the floor by the bed. Now he was stretched out on the bed, with only one last obstacle of clothing in the way, Zevran was obviously taking the time to look him over fully.

Theron propped himself up on his elbows as the former Crow began to run his hands over his body again, closing his eyes with a quiet sigh as he let the Antivan explore him. The ranger was lean, which was to be expected, with none of a warrior’s defined muscle or a mage’s softness. Somewhere in between, and doubly so from using a bow rather than daggers or swords like his lover. His shoulders were broad for an elf, all of his strength in his upper body and the firm muscles of his biceps and abdomen.

“Beautiful.” Zevran murmured appraisingly, lowering his head to suck and nip at one of the brown disks of Theron’s nipples again, making them stiffen as the ranger gasped, a shiver and sparks of heat running through him.

“So are you.” The Dalish elf answered after a few seconds, watching as Zevran began to kiss his way down to his stomach. The sight, and knowledge of what Zevran would undoubtedly do next made heat curl low in his stomach, made his fingers dig lightly into the soft sheets beneath them in anticipation.

He could feel the gentle brush of stray hair strands against his stomach, felt the cool puff of air as Zevran breathed out through his nose, and closed his eyes as the Antivan finally pulled his smallclothes down, got rid of the last barrier. The blond settled down between his legs at last, resting a hand on Theron’s hip, splaying his fingers over the prominent bone, and the ranger bit back a gasp when he felt warm, rough fingers close around his half-hard member, gently coaxing his body further as the heat low in his stomach pulsed softly, pleasantly.

When Zevran took him into his mouth, the Dalish elf let out a soft groan, unconsciously tilting his hips up in response to the wet warmth around him. He’d missed this - not so much _this_ specifically, but he’d missed being able to truly relax and take his time with Zevran without worrying about when he was to next appear before dignitaries or the people of Denerim.

“Zevran…” He groaned softly as the blond began to tease him, lowering his head and taking more into his mouth, tongue working skillfully as those fingers moved down to gently cup and stroke.

The Antivan chuckled low in his throat, and Theron groaned at the vibrations that jolted to his core. The blond had done that on purpose, hadn’t he?

Theron lay back on the bed, shivering as he felt the former Crow's tongue flicking over his tip, against that sensitive spot on the underside, everywhere that Zevran had learnt produced the best reaction from the man beneath him. For tonight more than any other night, they could afford to be thorough.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip to stop any more sounds from escaping for now, one hand reaching down blindly to tangle the Antivan’s soft hair between his fingers, encouraging rather than guiding or holding still. When Zevran began to gently suck, the ranger struggled to keep his hips still as the tension rose and coiled in his stomach, even with a steadying hand keeping them down.

Theron flushed when an involuntary whimper escaped him in response to Zevran running the flat of his tongue along the underside of Theron’s member and up in a flicking motion to the head of his cock. That only encouraged the former Crow to repeat it.

“Zev… Zevran.” The Dalish elf muttered shakily, opening his eyes and looking down. Zevran had his eyes closed, apparently completely focused on what his hands and mouth were doing, but they opened when he felt a gaze on him. Theron felt a shiver run through him as they looked at each other, and he was the first to look away, tilting his head back to stare up at the reproduction of a forest canopy as the heat in his stomach built.

He shut his eyes tightly and only just bit back a cry when he climaxed at last, hips bucking upwards uncontrollably as the pleasure overwhelmed him. The ranger exhaled shakily as he lay weakly on the bed, feeling sweat on his chest and wondering if the room had gotten warmer, or if it was simply due to his exertions.

Theron opened his eyes when Zevran stretched out on the bed next to him, smiling faintly at the other elf.

“This would normally be the part of the night where I would suggest we eventually move onto more rigorous activities,” The Antivan began, looking rather apologetic when the Dalish elf raised an eyebrow curiously. “But I forgot the oil.”

The black-haired man blinked.

“We could just go back to our own room, you know?” He pointed out, reluctantly shrugging off the content, sleepy afterglow of his release and pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“Do you want to?” Zevran asked, but Theron could see the hopeful gleam in his eyes, and knew without having to look that he was probably hoping for some form of release soon.

“Mm.” The ranger nodded, getting up from the bed and quickly tugging on his smallclothes and trousers, doing the button up hastily. He was about to reluctantly reach for his new shirt as well, but Zevran beat him too it, snatching up both shirts with a grin.

“It is not as if there will be anyone out there, _mi amor_.” He pointed out in response to the faintly unamused look the action earned him, slinging the shirts over his shoulders casually as he walked to the door - pausing to pick up the brandy again. “Besides, if some maid or whomever does happen to be out in the corridor, they will have something interesting to gossip about in the morning, no? The Hero of Ferelden and his dashing lover emerging from a guest room without their shirts? Whatever will they think?”

“That the dashing lover was cruel enough to steal the Hero of Ferelden’s shirt?” Theron retorted, for a moment just watching Zevran as he walked over to the door, gaze lingering none too subtly on his exposed shoulder blades, the curve of his spine, and lower, his musculature echoed and emphasised by more of those gracefully flowing black lines that disappeared beneath his trousers. Then he shook himself out of it and picked his boots up, following quickly. He was infinitely glad that their room wasn’t too long a walk down the corridor.

“I didn’t _steal_ it, I am merely carrying it for you.” Zevran frowned, holding the door open for the Dalish elf.

“My mistake, I wasn’t aware of how much of a gentleman you were.” The ranger sighed, relaxing now they were finally back in their room. He heard Zevran tut as he nudged the door shut behind them both, the hush of fabric as he dropped both shirts down onto a chair by the fireplace and the clink of glass as he set the bottle down on a table.

Theron kept deliberately still, keeping his back turned to Zevran patiently, and he was rewarded with the soft pad of bare feet approaching, feeling the other elf pressing his body up against his own, strong arms circling round his midsection, and a noticeable pressure against his thigh.

“Perhaps I need to show you, hm?” The Antivan whispered directly into his ear, making sure to roll his ‘r’s in that deliberately low voice. The black-haired man bit his lip at the feeling of warm breath fanning over the shell of his ear, and then the gentle pressure of teeth as Zevran carefully caught the gleaming hoop of jewelled gold between them.

“Wouldn’t that take too long?” Theron asked, leaning his hips back enticingly against the Antivan. He’d learnt how to play this particular game, but it was rare that he won against such an expect seducer.

“No, but it might be _hard_.” Zevran purred, his arms tightening around the ranger’s midsection slightly as he released the earring as carefully as he’d captured it, tilting his head to lightly bite and suck at Theron’s neck, determined to leave a visible mark to commemorate the night.

“You showing me how much of a gentleman you are?” The Dalish elf asked teasingly, and he felt rather than heard Zevran’s weary sigh, the rush of cold air against his pulse point. He grinned, wriggling free and turning to face the Antivan, grabbing his hands.

“You talk too much.” The blond grumbled in playful complaint, allowing himself to be led to the bed.

“You should be honoured.” Theron answered dryly, gently pushing Zevran onto the bed and moving to sit in his lap. “If you want, I could go back to not speaking to you?” He suggested, running his blunt fingernails down over the former Crow’s bare chest.

“Would that mean you would stop making all those lovely noises as well?” Zevran asked, and he sounded genuinely curious. Theron snorted, leaning in to briefly kiss the blond.

“Yes.”

“Then no, you may talk my ears off if you wish. I like those noises too much.”

The ranger bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, and Zevran took the opportunity to quickly roll them both over so Theron was lying on the bed and looking up at him once more. This time, there was no painted canopy to distract him, so the two stared at each other instead, drinking in the sight of each other. Theron reached up, gently running his fingers along the fluid curves of Zevran’s facial tattoos as the Antivan tilted his head into the touch.

“You’re endlessly patient.” The ranger commented at length, half-sitting up to kiss the other elf before he started to undo his trousers again and pull them off unaided.

“That is true.” Zevran nodded, sitting up to follow suit, relaxing slightly when his silk confines were finally done away with, hopefully for the rest of the night. They were far easier to remove than leather armour, despite how he’d gotten that particular practice down to an art.

Theron gave the Antivan a quizzical look as he lay back on the bed, privately resolving to not, in fact, talk Zevran’s ears off for the rest of the night. Truthfully, he had almost run out of things to talk about anyway, so quietness and a certain level of content passivity came naturally to him. The ranger watched as the blond reached for the bottle of oil they’d taken to keeping ready on the bedside table, anticipation stirring sparks back to life in his stomach and groin.

Zevran uncapped the small bottle, tipping a small amount of the oil out, and a sweet, nearly flowery smell tinged with the fragrance of sawn wood drifted through the air.

“If you wish, I could massage you beforehand?” He suggested, and Theron smiled at the tempting idea before shaking his head. Zevran had waited more than long enough.

“I feel relaxed enough already.” The ranger answered gently, waiting as the other elf set the vial down and ensured his fingers were slick. He parted his legs and lifted his hips up slightly in readiness, trying not to twitch when he felt a finger pressing against his entrance. The Dalish elf took a deep breath in, keeping himself relaxed as he lifted his head up to kiss the Antivan softly. It was a distraction that often worked in the past when he was being prepared, and it worked this time. His member stirred as his body adjusted to the careful finger, not quite recovered enough to grow hard again yet, and he gripped absently at the sheets.

The two continued to kiss gently as Zevran slowly moved his finger in circular motions that gradually widened as muscles relaxed. Soon, he added a second oiled finger, pulling his head out of the kiss for air as he curled his fingers searchingly.

Theron gasped sharply, legs jerking involuntarily when the Antivan found that spot and sent a jolt through him; so quick this time that the ranger was half-certain he was in the process of memorising exactly where it was.

“Hush.” He frowned when he looked up to see the blond desperately trying not to laugh out loud at his dramatic reaction, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He’d been taken by surprise, that was all.

Zevran shook his head in mute apology, biting his lip harshly to stop himself from snickering, but he still had a wide grin on his face as he leaned down to softly kiss the Dalish elf. Theron tried not to smirk back in response to the infectious expression, and instead arched his hips promptingly.

Theron closed his eyes tightly when the Antivan gently pressed his clever fingers to that spot again, angling his wrist so he could reach more, a little further. White stars burst behind his eyelids, and the Dalish elf tipped his head back as the pleasure went the short distance to his cock. He could feel his pulse deliciously low in his stomach again, and shivered in impatient anticipation as Zevran finished preparing him.

The black-haired man tried not to let out a noise of complaint when the blond withdrew abruptly and entirely to sit up on the bed, leaving him feeling cold and empty. He opened one eye, lifting his head up slightly as he watched Zevran where he knelt between his thighs, the bottle of oil in his hands again. The sight of the former Crow sitting there, the bottle that was unintentionally held at an angle that hid most of his arousal from view was enough to send a pang of need through the Dalish elf.

“Zevran.” Theron murmured, and the blond looked up from preparing himself, smiling at the sight.

“Patience, _mi amor_.” He whispered, leaning forwards to kiss the ranger roughly as he set the bottle down once more and lay between his legs.

The other elf let out a groan as he felt the warmth of Zevran’s body return, which turned to a gasp as he slowly pushed inside.

“You’re rather vocal tonight.” The Antivan noted, breath ghosting over the ranger’s ear as he whispered softly into it, still pressing his hips forwards carefully until he was inside and able to feel the hot tightness around him.

Theron blushed when attention was drawn to his mostly involuntary noises, closing his eyes and ducking his head slightly, even as his legs wrapped themselves round the former Crow’s waist and pulled him a little closer, deeper into the silken heat.

“Make no mistake, _mi amor_ , I like it when you are like this.” Zevran purred, nipping lightly at the shell of Theron’s ear as he began to pull back, starting up a slow and lazy rhythm. “It is certainly better than simply lying there in silence, hm?” He suggested, lowering his head to suck roughly at the Dalish elf’s throat again, leave even more light bruises and red marks. “There is no need for so much self-control here. We are not in a thin tent anymore. We can be as loud as we wish, for as long as we are staying here.” His voice was low and encouraging, interspersed with nips and long, drawn out thrusts.

Theron opened one eye, tilting his head to one side so Zevran could access more of his neck. He smiled distractedly at the other elf.

“And not ten minutes ago you were complaining of me talking too much.” He laughed, arching his back encouragingly to meet the blond’s thrusts, urging him to speed up a little. Zevran smiled ruefully down at the black-haired elf beneath him, and nodded.

“It would appear so.” He added, before leaning down to claim his lips in a rough, hungry kiss as he began to deepen his thrusts. Both of them silently agreed that there had been more talking than necessary, so they lapsed into silence that was only punctuated by brief gasps for air or of pleasure, and the regular sound of skin against skin as the former Crow sped his movements up to a gentle rocking.

Another benefit to not being camped out on some road was that now the two could take as long as they needed. There were no watch schedules to hinder them, no need to go and collect water or firewood, or hours needed to spend hunting. If it rained or the wind howled now, they could choose to ignore it completely in favour of each other.

In the time they’d spent on the estate, nearly every night had drifted through content and unhurried exploration of each other, learning each other’s bodies entirely with thick stone walls and a heavy, locked door to ensure interruptions were kept to a minimum. And with such a large celebration going on somewhere below them, with so many people it was not as if anyone would truly notice that two elves had slipped away - even if one was supposedly the Hero of Ferelden.

Theron had the notion that if someone did happen to comment on their absence tomorrow, Zevran would have some kind of innuendo-laden excuse prepared to deflect further questions. The ranger couldn't help smiling at the thought, opening his eyes as he reached a hand up to run it through the Antivan’s hair, over the tips of his pointed ears, their breathing hard as they moved together, pace instinctively quickening.

Zevran was murmuring softly in Antivan in between heated gasps for breath, voice hushed and a little strained. Theron could pick out one or two words he thought he knew - his own name and ‘ _amor_ ’ were heard several times, but for now the language was a low, singsong flow of words like the constant rush of a river, the meaning picked up from the tone rather than the actual words themselves. After a time, Zevran switched back to Ferelden, but the thick, lust-heavy accent remained.

“Theron, I lo…”

The ranger opened his eyes, knowing what the blond was trying to say, and he shook his head to stop the sentence in it’s tracks. Zevran didn’t need to say it for him to know it. He’d already said it aloud once before tonight, but had shown it many more times in the way he acted around the ranger; the softness to his gaze, the way he grinned when he coaxed a laugh or smile even at a bad sword joke, the attentiveness and care he took at times like this. Theron leaned up to kiss the Antivan, silencing him firmly, and showing him his response.

It didn’t take much longer until Zevran came undone with a cry, hips jerking forwards erratically before he could control it. The feeling was enough to make the tension in the ranger’s stomach finally break, gripping at the other elf as his thrusts slowed down again, feeling his release spill across his stomach as the ecstasy left him boneless. He might have said Zevran’s name, or Zevran might have said his, but it wasn’t too important.

The two lay there, Zevran doing his best not to pin Theron to the bed as they recollected themselves from breathlessness, still connected. The ranger eventually reached up to the Antivan’s face, stroking strands of fine golden hair that had fallen down back into place behind one pointed ear. Zevran sighed happily, opening his eyes. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to bask in the afterglow like this, the force of old habits made him want to get up and dressed as soon as possible, but it was a rare treat. Either it was because they were completely safe from any outside threats for the first real time since meeting each other, or because Theron’s legs were still stubbornly wrapped around his waist to keep him from extracting himself.

“I think…” The blond sighed, burying his head in the crook of the Dalish elf’s shoulder so each word was a puff of air against his warm body. “If you are to come with me to Antiva, I will need to teach you some Antivan.”

The ranger smirked, having expected as much.

“Perhaps then I’ll finally know what it is you keep saying at times like this?” He suggested, and he was rewarded with a tired chuckle.

“Indeed.” Zevran nodded faintly, reaching a hand down to gently push at Theron’s thighs. Reluctantly, the ranger complied and unhooked his legs, allowing his lover to pull out and get up at last. He lay back and shut his eyes, listening as the blond padded around the room collecting their strewn clothes into a slightly more orderly pile, and then he felt the bed dip as he was offered a damp, warm cloth to clean himself with.

“I think I left my boots in the other room.” Zevran commented, smirking in amusement as he glanced towards the locked door. “But it is not of importance. They pinched anyway, I am glad to be rid of them.”

Theron grinned, finishing in wiping his stomach clean, and he sat up, the better to look the Antivan over now they were both relaxed and sated.

“I’m sure your admirers are wondering where you slunk off to by now.” The Dalish elf replied after a moment, and Zevran grinned as he fixed his hair, preening under that grey gaze.

“I’m confident that they can survive without me for the rest of the night.” He shrugged dismissively, lying back on the bed and pulling Theron with him in a tangle of long legs and strong arms. “Tonight, I am yours, and only yours.”

The ranger smiled faintly, and wrapped his arms round the Antivan. He rested his head against Zevran’s chest, but then froze when that reminded him of something that shattered the content afterglow and replaced it with a gnawing guilt that was growing more and more familiar every day.

He looked up at the blond, and then the words were tripping off his tongue unbidden before he could stop.

“I’m sorry.”

Zevran frowned in confusion, and looked at him curiously.

“What do you mean?”

Theron hesitated. He could simply brush the matter away again and let the guilt fester for longer, as he had been doing for days now, or he could speak.

“I know why Morrigan left.” He began, looking down at the sheets. “She was waiting for me before the Battle of Denerim, and… She saved my life, Zevran.”

“How?” The blond asked, his frown deepening, and the ranger looked away.

“There was a ritual she… We did, to make sure that I wouldn't die with the Archdemon.” Theron continued quietly. “It wasn't blood magic, but it was something similar. She needed me for it.” The ranger hesitated, and then looked up at Zevran, waiting for the look of realisation to break through the confusion like the sun’s rays through a cloud. He took a deep breath, swallowed the sick feeling in his stomach, and kept going. “For the ritual to work, Morrigan needed to conceive a child.”

Zevran’s arms around him went slack, and Theron withdrew his own, ready to move away just in case. The blond was silent, staring at a blank spot on the wall over the ranger’s shoulder.

“Theron, are you trying to tell me that you slept with Morrigan?” The Antivan asked calmly.

The Dalish elf was silent, feeling his eyes sting. He knew that Zevran had been fairly open and relaxed about their relationship in the past, but that had been before Taliesen or the earring.

“Yes.” He whispered, the guilt blooming in his stomach. He’d gone behind Zevran’s back, because of his own cowardice.

“So you would survive killing the Archdemon? This ritual of Morrigan’s worked?”

Theron could only nod.

Zevran grew quiet again, still not looking at him. The silence stretched on.

“And when you were with Morrigan… Did you enjoy it?”

The ranger closed his eyes tightly against the threat of impending tears, a sadistic part of his mind dragging him back through the memories of that evening over and over. How odd it had felt, how he knew it wasn't Zevran and couldn't fool himself into thinking otherwise for a second. And thinking he would be able to forget the memories with the real thing? No, it had just been a distraction at best.

“Hated it.” He mumbled.

“You found no pleasure in the act?” Zevran asked swiftly, tone changing from one of curiosity to concern. “And Morrigan made you do it for the ritual anyway?”

Theron was still lying curled up against the Antivan, could feel his sharp breath in when he nodded once.

“ _Mi amor_ , what happened on that night was rape.”

That one sentence, sharp with anger and old pain that wasn't directed at him, was enough to overcome Theron’s last vestige of willpower, and the ranger felt tears in his eyes as his chest tightened.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to say, feeling the Antivan’s arms wrap around him once more, pulling him close. “I didn’t want to do it. I wish I had died at the top of Fort Drakon.” He added, digging his nails into the bedsheets. Zevran’s arms around him tightened protectively.

“No, don’t ever say that.” The blond all but snapped, voice suddenly harsh. “We could argue about whether the ends justifies the means for the rest of the night but all I care about is that you lived. You have given me a purpose in life now, and I don’t wish to lose it again, not after all that has happened.” Zevran continued, his accent becoming more pronounced the more emotional he grew. “I never want to lose you. What you did must have been painful, and I did wonder why you seemed so very shaken on that night, but the blame lies with that _perra_ Morrigan.”

Zevran took a breath, trying to control his temper as he realised Theron was quietly crying - his shoulders weren’t shaking, but there were tears running down his face. “It was not your fault, _mi amor_ , nothing could be. I am sure that anyone else would have chosen life over death any day.” The former Crow's voice was soft again as he reached a hand down, gently brushing his thumb over the ranger’s cheek and wiping away a tear. “The two are so intertwined anyway.” He sighed, more to himself. “You have nothing to be sorry or guilty about, Theron, do you understand?” He asked, gently pulling up the ranger’s chin so their gazes met. “I understand why you did it, and I am the furthest thing from being hurt or mad at you for sleeping with Morrigan. What you did was so brave, and you have struggled with the burden of it for too long.” Zevran gently kissed Theron on the lips.

“I feel like a coward.” Theron eventually said, pulling away slightly to wipe at his eyes irritably.

“You are not, trust me.” Zevran answered firmly, keeping his arms round the Dalish elf’s midsection. “You survived, and let the others think it a miracle.” He hesitated, and then drew the ranger close once more. “Sadly I cannot make Morrigan answer for what she did to you, but perhaps that is why she left, hm?” He shrugged, trying to lighten the other elf’s spirit.

Theron smiled darkly.

“I’ll never see her again. And I never want to.” He answered firmly, letting out a shaky breath.

“Excellent.” Zevran nodded. He was curious about what Theron had said earlier, about why Morrigan needed to conceive a child in order to ensure he survived, and what she might do with said child, but the Antivan knew that he had pried enough for one night into such a distressing subject.

The ranger spoke up after a few minutes of collecting himself.

“I did it for you, as well.” He said quietly. “I… I wanted to live so I could still be with you.”

Zevran’s chest constricted at the information, and he rested his head against the ranger’s.

“I am honoured.” Somehow, that didn't seem like it was an adequate response, like the words weren't strong enough. Zevran felt more than honoured that Theron wanted to be with him, had done it for him.

“I hated… Sleeping with Morrigan, but I tried to think of you instead. It helped, slightly.” Theron mumbled, and Zevran gently rubbed his back, trying to comfort him.

“It seems that you really do only like men. You are not missing much.”

“I do. Or, maybe only you.” The ranger shrugged, leaning up to gently kiss Zevran. “Thank you.” He added quietly. “For being so understanding.”

Zevran nodded, and kissed the ranger back before he answered.

“Well, I know what it is like to be in a situation like that. I am hardly one to judge, either. I am simply glad that you are safe, and that you felt secure enough to tell me all of this after so long.”

The Antivan settled down again on the bed, thinking about everything that Theron had just told him. Theron had gone through that trauma for him. If that wasn’t a sign that the ranger loved him, then Zevran wasn’t worth being loved.

“ _Mi amor_ , once we have finished pursuing darkspawn stragglers and our group inevitably starts to go their separate ways, we are going straight to Antiva for a long-overdue honeymoon, yes?” The blond spoke up.

The Dalish elf blinked. “It’s sad to think that after everything that’s happened, we’re all going to drift apart again. But it is inevitable.” He answered, sighing quietly. He looked up at Zevran then, and smiled. “A honeymoon does sound nice.” Theron chuckled dryly.

“Wonderful.” The former Crow purred, trying not to seem too elated by the idea of finally being able to return to Antiva, with his lover in tow. Of course, the Crows would be a problem, but he knew that they always would be. More like flies than crows, mild irritants to be swatted away repeatedly. Perhaps, once they realised the Hero of Ferelden was in their territory, they would think twice about trying to bother them?

Zevran smiled to himself as he lay curled up with the ranger that had opened and won his heart, knowing that whatever would happen in the future, they could never truly be parted from each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, this won't be the end of the series. I have a lot more pieces to put up - one or two are from before Theron joined the Grey Wardens, and some others are speculations on the future. I have no idea what order I'm going to put them up in, but I think it would be a good idea to arrange the series into some form of chronological order while I'm doing so.

**Author's Note:**

> The rating will change by the end of the fic, just a heads up. ;)  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/ ... [leaves this here]


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